This morning of the small snow I count the blessings, the leak in the faucet which makes of the sink time, the drop of the water on water.

The heroes of the present will retreat to the imitation they are anyhow.

I'm sorry, but I was born with a towel on my head.

When will government cease being a nuisance to everybody?

You can do anything, really. And that, l think, is one of the exciting possibilities of the present, l swear, is the possibility that the goddamn thing can be modaled throughout.

I sound like Homer. I mean Winslow Homer.

I defer to all these other American poets who, for some reason, I both envy and admire.